


o flower whose petals lose their rosy hue, sing softly the song you wrote, like honey from your throat.

by acheronianbusker



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crimson Flower, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Trans Ferdinand von Aegir, Transfeminine Ferdie, descriptions of childbirth, post partum depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25236379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acheronianbusker/pseuds/acheronianbusker
Summary: what happens after the immaculate one is defeated?  why, the goalposts shift of course.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	o flower whose petals lose their rosy hue, sing softly the song you wrote, like honey from your throat.

**Author's Note:**

> you may be thinking “no, not another insomniac dorothea fic!” to which i would respond *looks away in shame*
> 
> this one is set in a CF universe where dorothea gets pregnant during the war and she takes refuge at garreg mach while the BESF fights TWSID. 
> 
> this has all characters recruited except ignatz and raphael because i couldn’t conceptualize them as part of the empire’s army for some reason.
> 
> ferdie uses she/they pronouns in this fic, as in all others set in my crimson flower universe.
> 
> this fic is about loneliness, yearning, and baby blues, but it’s about happy endings too. i hope you enjoy it!

Ferdie sleeps theatrically, as though in a scene at the Opera. Mouth open, spread eagle across the bed. Dorothea often wakes to her wife's breath, slow and even, tickling the space between her neck and her collarbone. They both sleep soundly enough these days, compared to during the war against the Agarthans, when they would both wake at the sound of the leaves rustling outside. Ludicrous as it is, as though those who slither in the dark would have given them even that much warning before entering the house, it was all they could do to staunch the flow of anxiety at the time.

On top of which, Dorothea's pregnancy had complicated the effort to a ludicrous degree with the Black Eagle Strike Force down two key members, who were forced to retreat to Garreg Mach, untouchable by the javelins of light, and stay hidden.

This had proven crucial when with Edelgard's last missive three weeks past and no sign or word from the rest of the team, Ferdie rode to Enbarr to stop a crucial attack against the remaining forces in the capital, having studied white magic extensively to become a Holy Knight.

But it hadn't come without cost. Nothing did.

They both suffered from that late separation. With Dorothea's own Faith training came many benefits, one of which was that the baby had arrived unharmed. But the psychological toll of being apart, the grim reality of the situation after six years of war, the professor's sudden and abrupt loss of power, and the ensuing rift between them when Ferdie rode for Enbarr had left lasting scars on both their minds.

Which might be why she is so satisfied these days to see Ferdie asleep as if without a care in the world. She treasures it more than she can say, waking to Ferdie's leg slung over her hip, her arm across Dorothea's torso.

When the baby was born, that long separation had pulled her into an abyss of sadness and depression. The heat of the summer, with the baby kicking against her ribs and she, unable to sleep. Byleth, fate in the wind. Edelgard on a diplomatic mission in the North with Felix and Sylvain when Thales played his final cards. Hubert, in Enbarr, and then in the blink of an eye, in Shambhala.

Emile and Yuri in Shambhala, with Mercedes's frantic letters to the far reaches of Fodlan, even reaching so far as the monastery no one visited any longer. Petra returning home to Brigid, victorious in declaring its independence. Bernadetta in Almyra with Claude, and Shamir on their lone missions to the ends of Alliance territory. Constance in Nuvelle, picking up the scattered pieces of a former stronghold. Caspar and Linhardt, waging war against their fathers, fighting to give their territories away.

Not a letter from Ferdie. Not a one. She always understood why, always. Never questioned that her wife would write if she could, was afraid of the letter being traced. Never once questioned her loyalty.

But it had been impossible to forgive nonetheless, with Dorothea alone. Abandoned and forgotten at the monastery with time on her hands to do nothing but think. Think, and become nauseated by the smell of the Teutates Pike from the lake, and worry over the crumbling structures at the monastery. For a month eating almost nothing but rice and what broth she could stomach to nourish the baby.

Thinking of it as a thing. Of her as a thing. Of how she wanted the baby out.

* * *

She shifts all of her belongings to Ferdie’s old room. She’s almost angry at herself for not thinking of it sooner, before all the air in the room turned stale and all warmth was gone.

There, she opens the wardrobe to deposit her spare clothing and almost drops it in surprise. In the closet is an Aegir coat, long and regal, in pristine condition. It is Dorothea’s sole comfort in sleep. She drapes it over herself as a protective blanket, and she takes tea in it in the mornings. At first, she drinks southern blend religiously but eventually she cannot stomach it due to the nausea, and rids herself of the habit entirely.

The coat stays. It is a comforting weight across her shoulders and she wears it whenever she has to leave the comfort of her room. People stare at the emblem of a disgraced house, but she pays it no mind. 

The real pain is her loneliness and separation from those she thought, however foolishly, could be her family.

* * *

And then the agony when the baby was born. She curled up in the jacket when her water broke, hadn't called for the healers, not until the baby was already crowning and she felt like she was being split in two. Feeling those contractions, feeling the baby coming out of her was the first time she had been touched by another being in months. The pain of childbirth, distant and stern nurses, Manuela nowhere to be found, and all she felt, then, was numb.

They took the coat from her to clean, and she tugged at it mindlessly. When the bloodsoaked thing ripped from her hands, she felt her mind split from her body, become detached from her spirit. The cathedral that had been rebuilt to no end or purpose with the Goddess defiled. Manuela, perhaps that was where she had gone, to reinforce faith without the Church. Edelgard was nothing if not thorough in that; so tenacious was Edelgard that she had not spared a single human being that Dorothea could call on.

The baby had a healthy set of lungs. She screamed where Dorothea was silent.

* * *

The cathedral, that was where she would take the baby to nurse.

It was not as though they had not been apart before, Dorothea and Ferdie. The divide between them had seemed insurmountable at that, when they met again at Garreg Mach, . And during the war, Dorothea had survived without Ferdie for months on end. But surviving was not living. And this separation was barely surviving.

She felt pitiful complaining about not taking part in the war, when it was all she had asked for while it was happening. But now, she wanted nothing more than to feel something again, even if it was bloodlust.

If Dorothea was numb, Ferdie's eyes would be filled with tears.

It was not a complaint, was it? That the eerie silence in the halls of Garreg Mach, in her heart, did not feel alive. It felt like an inhuman, reptilian presence closing in on them, like Rhea - Seiros - laughed down on them from the beyond.

Athalia. She had named the baby herself. Ferdie had been torn away by the war before they could choose a name properly. She was a tiny thing. Dorothea could scarcely produce enough milk. The healers gave her water with fenugreek ground into it and she would hold her nose and drink and take the baby to where her screams would echo off the walls.

She would rarely quiet. Dorothea had scarcely little comfort to provide her at that. Mindlessly, she would rock the baby back-and-forth, but even the baby could tell she was posturing. Dorothea had no warmth left inside her to give. Her compassion lay abandoned at the feet of hundreds of dead soldiers on graveyards, at the impact radius of meteors. Her wife and any other family she presumed she had were gone, with the Agarthans likely marching to Garreg Mach in the eerie silence that precluded their arrival.

When would they come?

* * *

On her third or fourth time unattended, she goes completely numb, there, in the cathedral. She is so tired, and so sorry Athalia, so sorry. She droops forward. She hears the baby cry but cannot bring herself to respond.

Dorothea does not see her visitor approach. She slinks up behind Dorothea with small, hesitant footsteps. Dorothea does not move, unseeing eyes staring ahead blankly.

The visitor raises a curious paw to Dorothea's face. The black cat crawls into her lap, and sniffs at Dorothea, then the baby, and licks at Dorothea's tears.

It shocks Dorothea out of her stupor. She looks at the cat, dumbfounded, and the cat looks back at her. It is the small, underfed Hresvelgion Whisker, the mean one that does not entertain herself with humans.

She thanks the cat wordlessly and wipes her tears, gathering the the baby in her arms. To her astonishment, the cat follows her out of the cathedral and back to her rooms, and curls up at her feet in bed, under the coat. 

* * *

In the end, the Agarthans do not come. Fleche arrives at Garreg Mach a few weeks after Dorothea gives birth. She takes rounds across the grounds, they both know it is an ultimately pointless effort and that Randolph will focus on the war effort better if he does not have to worry about her on strike missions. The rest of Fodlan was a formidable enemy. Those Who Slither In the Dark are a terrifying one.

Fleche coos at the baby. She spends time with Athalia and Dorothea and her quiet solitude and her bursts of cheerful energy alike are a lifeline. Her presence provides Dorothea with no small amount of relief; to some degree, it is relief that Fleche still seems to have retained some youthful innocence.

Will Athalia retain that innocence? Will she ever have to touch war again?

Athalia will never be spit on, Dorothea resolves. She will not grow up an orphan on the streets, begging for scraps. Dorothea owes it to Athalia to survive.

For her daughter, Dorothea will break her promise if she has to. She will kill, maim, murder. She will do anything to protect her.

A week after Fleche leaves again, Dorothea's mood sours completely. She falls into an even deeper low than before. The little appetite that had returned as she (badly) cooked with Fleche dissipates with time, and Dorothea is listless and stubborn.

She provides milk for the baby, bounces and changes and feeds her. Then, when the nuns from the monastery take the baby, she sleeps restlessly. In her dreams, she walks across battlefields, searching for Ferdie. The carnage is absolute, and the soldiers are bannerless and faceless under the blood.

Would Athalia end up like Fleche, making the best of her childhood in a warzone with her mother trying to keep her out of it. Or like Flayn, always running and always hiding. Would she prove futile at hiding well enough?

She wakes with a start.

One day, she tries finishing her plate of food for more than an hour. She cannot eat it, the rice. It is plain, white rice but it will not enter her mouth. She cannot force it down.

A pit-patter of paws alerts her to a new presence in her quarters. It is the same cat, the one that has been following Dorothea around. She climbs onto Dorothea's desk and stares at Dorothea inquisitively. Dorothea feeds her bites of fish and for each bite the scrawny, underfed cat eats, she eats one herself. She stays still when Dorothea bathes her, and it turns out she is more grey than pitch-black with the ash and soot out of her fur. She is beautiful, the Hresvelgion Whisker. Dorothea does not name her. She is not a pet; she is Dorothea’s companion.

In the end, her new friend begins to follow her around the monastery.

That day, Dorothea tends to flowers in the greenhouse and takes up a study in the Professor's Offices.

The next day, she wakes up with the baby in her arms and the cat curled around her protectively. She scoops the baby up and has a light breakfast in the dining commons.

Some of the young children - orphans, the grand majority of them - come to her to keep her company in the office. It's nice. They play with the baby while Dorothea teaches them healing magic - healing only. She will never cast an offensive spell again, this she vows.

Athalia curls up in Ferdie’s coat during the day, which doubles as her new blanket. When she is awake, she likes to play with the buttons on it, and it makes Dorothea feel much better to see her in it. She uses the coat to swaddle the baby, and the other children giggle at the sight of it. It makes Dorothea smile too.

She becomes the physician in Manuela's stead and the irony is almost comical. It gives her purpose.

Fleche visits again, and they walk the grounds again. The baby has grown, she is sun-kissed and healthy now, and she smiles when she sees Fleche. Dorothea does not think she remembers Fleche by face, but the baby is always happy these days, happy and smiling.

As for Dorothea, the darkness lifts, and the aching and yearning returns.

A letter finally, finally comes:

My Dearest Dorothea,

Thales is dead. We have dispatched the rest of his forces. I am on my way to Garreg Mach as this letter reaches you.

Words cannot express how much I miss you. Randolph gave me your last letter. My relief at your and the baby’s health is boundless.

Ah, my head is ringing with pure joy! Like a thousand bells! It is even greater than the joy of victory in battle. It is victory in life itself!

I cannot wait to see the baby. I miss you deeply, dearly. I need to see you.

Please await me, my love.

Ferdie von Aegir

It feels cruel but Dorothea almost laughs acridly. Of course. Of course Ferdie would think that. That she has been doing naught but growing soft on eating cakes and relaxing in the last few months.

The bitterness coats Dorothea’s tongue like a pill and she tries in vain to swallow it down. She tries not to let that small seed of anger grow in her skull, but it does, alongside the worry and anguish and pure love.

She loves Ferdie. She does not want Ferdie to be suffering now, knowing she could do nothing to help Dorothea’s plight. This was good. Dorothea just had to...sell the performance, so to speak.

She reads the letter time and time again until she convinces herself she feels reassured, rather than malcontented. And waits, again. Always, waits.

* * *

When the war party returns to Garreg Mach, it is loudly and rancorously. Too loud. Compared to the silence of the monastery, it is ear-splitting. Athalia is disturbed by the noise, and Dorothea puts her down for a nap inside. Then, Dorothea goes outside to wait for the victors to enter.

Dorothea watches Ferdie’s arrival from the gates. Ferdie's face changes as they take one step toward her, then two, then run at her at full force.

They pick her up at the waist and spin her around, then wrap her in a hug so intimate she is shocked by their impropriety in this very public display of affection.

They give her a wide smile, almost babbling in relief, "Ahem. Apologies. I got a little carried away there. I am shaking... I cannot control it. It would be no exaggeration to say that my whole life, everything I have done, has led me to this moment. I am overjoyed! Oh dear, I might faint..."

That very smile fades as they watch Dorothea's face. She tries to hone her best acting skills to evoke a smile of her own, but her face feels wooden.

Ferdie's whole face droops and their eyes become solemn. They release her as if burned. All the life seems to drain out of them in less than a moment.

"I'm sorry," Dorothea wants to say, but Ferdie's expression won't let her.

"The baby-" Ferdie begins uncertainly.

Dorothea's knees buckle. Ferdie catches her before she rights herself and holds on for a long time.

"I need..." Dorothea's voice wavers and tears form in her eyes. Ferdie looks more heartbroken than anyone she's ever seen. "She's okay, Ferdie." Dorothea vocalizes around the lump in her throat. "She's fine."

The heartbreak and uncertainty remains on Ferdie's face. “But _you_ are not fine, are you Dorothea?” They ask, softly. Anyone around has long since passed them at the gates or turned away to give them some privacy.

"I don't know. I don't- I don't think so." Ferdie's mouth hardens into a gaunt line and their brow furrows and the stress of the last six years shows on their face visibly. The war has aged them both past recognition.

Someone approaches slowly from the distance, carrying a small blue bundle. Dorothea mutely points at the bundle and then puts her hand over Ferdie's heart. She burrows her face into their shoulder wordlessly.

"It's alright, my darling. It's going to be alright." Ferdie sounds as unconfident as she has ever heard them, and their hands stutter as they rub circles into her back; she struggles not to break apart. She's hyperventilating.

Ferdie tries to release her to take Athalia from the nun, but she holds on. "Don't let go, please." She mouths desperately. Dorothea herself takes the baby in her arms and holds her up to Ferdie's chest; she watches Ferdie take her in.

Ferdie's eyes fill with tears. They blink once, twice, as though they can't believe what they're seeing. "She has your eyes."

"And your hair," Dorothea smiles tremulously, a real smile this time. "I named h-her Athalia."

"A girl," Ferdie murmurs between heaving sobs "my baby."

Both her parents are in a sorry state but oddly enough, Athalia is unfazed. She reaches out a hand to grab at Ferdie's nose and babbles happily.

Dorothea makes a keening noise into Ferdie's coat at this, and the scent of the stupid Southern Fruit Blend emanating from the handkerchief tucked into their breast pocket sends her into another cry.

"You're here." She pulls Ferdie down to her eye level and rests her forehead against theirs. Angry stress pimples dot their hairline and she laments their absence from their daughters first moments. Laments her own.

Ferdie takes the baby, their baby, in one arm and presses kisses all over her face. "I washed at the forward camp," they reassure Dorothea. The baby giggles at the press of the soft stubble on their face, but Ferdie winces at the texture.

"I'll take care of it," Dorothea rubs her hands over Ferdie's cheeks. "We'll take care of you."

"I want to take care of her." Ferdie says hoarsely. “I missed everything. I cannot stand this, Dorothea. I missed everything."

Dorothea shakes her head, and a year's worth of tension leaves her body.

“We were lost without you. You didn’t miss anything.” She’s surprised to find that she really means it, like she feels like she’s taken a breath for the first time since Ferdie left her behind. She finds, in that moment, that she forgives Ferdie. That there is practically nothing to forgive. She feels the extent to which they have both suffered dearly and leaves the resentment behind her.

“You’re home. You're _home._ "

* * *

"You're home." She reassures herself, stroking at her wife's hair. Ferdie's eyes open and she gazes at Dorothea blearily, then pulls Dorothea into her bare chest. Dorothea snuggles up against her.

"Crying?" Ferdie whispers, wiping the tears from Dorothea's eyes, and pressing a kiss into her nose.

Dorothea trails a hand up and down Ferdie's torso. "You're real." She says, with a little conviction, sniffling.

Ferdie nods.

"You're here," she says more boldly, clearing her throat. "We're okay."

"We're okay." Ferdie brings Dorothea's hand up to her mouth and kisses her thumb where their hands are clasped together fiercely.

Dorothea settles into Ferdie's chest at that. Ferdie croons an old Opera song that has nothing but good connotations for both of them, and Dorothea lets herself be lulled into a drowsy state. "We're okay." She has to say it one more time.

Then she sleeps.

**Author's Note:**

> i want to eventually do a part II of this fic that discusses dorothea’s feelings toward motherhood because she *does* love her child more than anything, that’s her daughter, but postpartum depression is real, and it’s a hell of a drug.


End file.
